Does Death Wear Panties?
by MarioR
Summary: A short Story About the Sandman's Sister, Death.  I'd love to get some feedback on this!


Does Death Wear Panties?

As I sleep I dream, and as I dream I learn. I unlearn many false truths I had learned while waking and re-learn many truths I had forgotten while sleeping. While awake I had learned that the ancient western world saw sleep and death as brother and sister. At times each could look like the other, and had been mistaken for one another, time and time again. Either to the onlookers dismay or delight depending on the outcome.

In the waking world I had learned that Death has often been and still is portrayed as a dark caped figure. Whose true form is that of a male skeleton, never have I witnessed it portrayed as a female. But if that is the case, than sleep, who can also be considered Dream, must be his sister. Again in the waking world Sleep as in the form of the iconic Mr. Sandman is again portrayed as a man. Can both be right? I think not.

In lights of this and many hours under chemically controlled sleep, I have come to firmly believe that Sleep is most definitely the Male and Death the female. You see I have been in and out of induced sleep like comas for the past several years, for my physical condition is rapidly diminishing, and soon will be naught. But I have learned or should I say have unlearned so much in this state that I am almost grateful for it.

Sleep and Death are both seductive in their own ways, but sleep's seduction is common and everyday, where Death's is a once in a life time thing. When I was first being put under I could feel Sleep's warm embrace, comforting and cuddle me as though, once again in the womb. While I was still alive, I mean truly alive and not kept in that state by science and machine, I knew a different kind of seduction by sleep. The kind that everyone feels after 15-20 hours of wakefulness, the seduction of that which is earned, the greedy duel seduction of that which is owed to us. How I long for that seduction now. The seduction I have now is that which is programmed into a machine, then into my veins, and that draws me back onto unconsciousness against my will. Though it's embrace is still as seductive and unyielding as ever.

In those hours I learn while I dream, and from sleep itself I have learned that his identity is that of a man, yet a boy in so many ways. Sometimes wild and playful and even possibly mad. At others mundane and simple, as though he is board with his task and the job is completed half heartedly. Of late though, as my very essence trickles from me, in the darkest depths of my dreams, the one from which escape itself almost seems impossible, I see her. Death.

She is nothing like what she is betrayed as, and at times I feel that she resents the image man has cast her in. For you see, I know my time on this Earthly plane is limited, and when I am oh so deep in that sleep, I can see her calling to me, and she is beautiful. Not in any crude voluptuous way that is commonly conceived and portrayed by modern man. In such a simple and perfect way,that could only have been understood by mankind, when it itself was still in ifs infancy.

Her hair is as dark as darkness itself, thick, lengthy and full of wavy life. Her skin is as white as true white could ever hope to be. Not pale but white. She is not a corpse or a skeleton or even the old hag which the modernist would have us believe, but youthful, young and having all the freedom of her body which come with these attributes.

She is not thin but petite, not tall nor short but somewhere in between. Her skin is so smooth that every silkworms, since their creation have worked in an attempt to imitate it, yet have never even come close. Her dress is a simple one, just that, a simple dress which is forever in competition with her hair, to see which is darker.

Death's breasts are perfect, supple yet dainty, in defiance if not contempt of gravity, as is her bottom. Above the knee, held to her shoulders by impossibly thin string, one is likely to believe that her forever perky nipples hold the entire clingy ensemble up. On the rarest of occasion, when the light strikes her beauty just so, you can see just the faintest hint of the upper cleavage of her buttocks. Beyond that one would have to believe that the dress was apart of her, and irremovable. I fully intend to see this theory through, to the end.

During my last induced sleep, I have been told, that they almost lost me several times. Only the quick actions of a team had allowed me to ever regain consciousness. I knew before I had rejoined the living, for you see I had crossed over the line. For weeks now Death has been seducing me. Each time I had gotten closer and closer to her, until just recently I had been allowed to touch her incredible softness. Then, it was a long passionate kiss, my arms wrapped around her tight young body, her cool hands cradling my face, our tongues tasting each other.

The last time we were floating in a warm void of nothingness yet not nothingness. Not unlike unending warm water, but without any fear of drowning. I was naked and lay proud before her, her top had fallen down around her waste and I caressed her perfectly soft breasts. My hands instinctively went for her waist, but she was too quick for me and stopped them before I could grab hold of her bottom. Whispering in my ear she promised I could see her without her dress and when next we met she would ride me like the wild stallion I had once been. She would grant me one last time, one last moment of being what I was, when I was young and innocent and so full of life, those decades past. She would grant me the greatest ecstasy of life, and that's all it would cost me, what remained of my life.

Before I was to go under again, I made certain preparations. The kind of preparations a person makes when they know they are not coming back. I assure all those around me that it will be OK and I am ready for this, my time has come. As I go under for what I know will be the last time, there is a defiant smirk on my face, and the final thought that I am comforted by, before the darkness envelopes is: Does Death Wear Panties?


End file.
